


The Most Beautiful Girl in this Whole McDonalds

by fullofimber



Category: citrus - サブロウタ | citrus - Saburouta
Genre: Angst, F/F, one-sided haruyuzu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 11:13:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18281573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullofimber/pseuds/fullofimber
Summary: Strung out and heartbroken, Harumi decides it's time to give Matsuri a taste of her own, morally-dubious medicine.Set during chapter 36's time-skip.Cribbed the title from @incorrect-citrus-quotes on tumblr, all credit for it goes to them.





	The Most Beautiful Girl in this Whole McDonalds

Adobo was arguably the ugliest station in all Tokyo. It had been around since the '60s, and it showed its age, the concrete of the exterior blank and broad and bleeding grey where rain had pooled on its slow way down. Even from the inside it felt antiquated, right down to the struts of the platforms, upon which the entire building seemed to shake. At this point, however, the sensations were familiar - soothing, even, like the flat voice of the woman who, unceasing and invariable, announced each incoming train to Shibuya. Inside the station café, the platform's strip-lights shone in, and they had a cold luminescence which reminded Harumi, at least, of the moon.

"Let me give you one piece of advice, Taniguchi-senpai."

Matsuri stretched out in the seat opposite, before she slowly, deliberately, pulled a fry from its packet and dunked it into her milkshake. She brought it out as she spoke again, and it shook, heavy with emphasis, at every word.

"If you like fun, never go to Okinawa."

"Oh?"

Harumi's eyes, dull and glazed, did not move from her Instagram feed.

"Fuck yeah. Unless you want to hang out with tourists all day." Matsuri downed her fry and threw her hands behind her head. "No one ever knows where they're going. They spend six hours trying to read a menu."

"Ah."

"I'm being serious. It was the worst vacation I ever had." She let out a long sigh, reaching for her cardboard cup. "Mom told Oba I'd help in the shop. She said my English was good."

Harumi couldn't help but snort at this. Matsuri relaxed her grin a touch.

"It was an absolute wonder I survived. But, then." She paused, ensuring she met Harumi's gaze. "It's an absolute wonder you guys survived without me, too."

Harumi's eyes flicked downward, her face settling into a deep frown. In the silence that followed, both heard the woman sound over the tannoy again.

It had been a good few months now - maybe seven or eight - since something had changed. Harumi had nothing more specific than that; Yuzu, despite everything, hadn't offered her anything at all.

She had no idea what had happened, but her heart still broke for it, and the pain that she saw Yuzu fall into whenever she had the chance to introspect. She was always on - always talking, always singing, always playing music - and, in every spare moment, she seemed exhausted. Harumi could only dread to think of how her life had been since summer started, her apartment now resoundingly empty for the majority of the day.

There had been times on the walk from school or on the bus or on the train to Shibuya where Harumi's only thought was that of pulling Yuzu into her arms. She had acted out her capability so often for so long that it almost felt inherent to her, but when she saw Yuzu in distress, it all collapsed in on itself. Her best friend's despair filled her with a panic that she couldn't name, and, with this, there came a bitter compulsion to face the reality of these feelings, which were unlike any she had ever had before. In the effluence of blithe hugs and photo-booth kisses, there was a sense of real and perceptible emptiness, and Yuzu, hard-set as a concrete wall, persisted in telling her that she was fine. Happy, even.

Her Instagram was disconcertingly pristine; there were no clues there, only photos of puppies and nail art.

"In all honesty," Matsuri began again, "this is kind of a watershed moment for us all. Give it another two weeks and you'll have no chance to escape."

Harumi finally set down her phone, giving her companion a small, tight smile.

"You know you'll get eviscerated at the Academy, right?"

Matsuri said nothing, and shook her head with a grin.

"I'm being serious. Himeko will probably straight-up strangle you if you wear that hoodie. And you know Mei Aihara--" Harumi's sentence came to a brief stop. "You'll be in for it, let's put it that way."

"If she has the balls to show her face."

Matsuri's gaze was fixed on her fry-packet, which she flicked onto its side.

She hated herself for it, but Harumi wanted out of this conversation before it had even had a chance to start.

"If she doesn't, I'll be sure to throw you to Mitsuko myself."

Matsuri settled her chin on her arms, staring into the crook of her elbow.

"So, Mitsuko... she's at home to stay, yeah?"

"Oh yeah. She still wants to get her own place, but for now uh--"

Harumi faltered a little as she saw Matsuri reading her phone, and faltered a little more when she saw that Matsuri's face remained as impassive as ever.

"Taniguchi-senpai..."

It was too late now, but even so, Harumi was quick to lock her phone, resting her fist on its dark screen.

"How long are you planning to pine over Yuzu-chan?"

"Not this again, Matsuri."

She took a breath. "I thought we were done chasing pipe-dreams, Taniguchi-senpai."

Harumi squinted hard in frustration. She felt moisture pooling where her eyelids met, a fact which, in and of itself, brought blood to her face.

"I thought we'd _all_ stopped doing that."

"Right."

Harumi rose to her feet, slamming both hands down onto the table. The clink of her ring against the metal was conspicuous, but Harumi didn't dare look above her fringe. All her insides convulsed, drew together into a sob which she barely managed to swallow. Still standing, she drew in close to her kouhai, and spoke her words flatly.

"None of us are the same now, are we?"

The momentary flash of shock in Matsuri's face was enough for her, as brief as it had been. It was easy to tell, even as Matsuri rose, her mouth now plastered in a crooked smile, that she had been knocked onto her back-foot.

Harumi chanced a quick glance upward. The only other two patrons of the place, two teenaged boys, were watching from the corners of their eyes, likely spoiling for the upcoming cat-fight, though that was not what appeared to have turned the air so toxic. The waitress was hanging back behind the counter, though the line-cook, a thick-necked man with a dragon tattoo pushing its way up his cheek, had come to join her, his gaze fixed, firm, on the two of them.

"And I think, senpai, that we're done with this too."

The two hung still for a few seconds, around a foot between them. In the silence, Harumi took a quiet breath before sinking down into the chair. She shouldered her bag and broke Matsuri's gaze as she strode to the door.

"He-ey!"

Harumi had only taken about ten steps on the concourse before she turned around. It was strange - it unsettled her - how automatic the decision was to turn around, and how little anger sprung in her at the sight of that pink-haired fuck-up.

The stealth-gyaru almost wanted to laugh. Matsuri had been ruffled, for sure - and that was almost painfully gratifying. As she ran from the doorway she shrugged her hat and hoodie back on, her rucksack swinging in the crook of her elbow.

"Cool your fucking jets, old-timer--"

Harumi turned and started to walk again. Even as she strode, Matsuri's strange, chaotic footfalls were loud behind her, and, when the kouhai grabbed at her shoulder, she looked to be herself, though a touch flushed with the exertion.

"We were going halves, you fuck--"

Harumi was still walking, at a pace now too fast for Matsuri to comfortably match. Each time she reached Harumi she would try to step in front of her, but her senpai persisted in barreling past her, side-stepping her every effort. Harumi did all she could not to smile at the absurdity of the whole situation; as perversely happy as it made her, she could not bear to give Matsuri the satisfaction.

"I had to leave three thousand yen in there! And my milkshake!"

Matsuri's breath was loud and agitated now. Harumi couldn't help but laugh to herself. It really was true, what she'd told Yuzu all that time ago - the only thing Matsuri feared was having to pick up her own cheques.

"You can't be a bitch just because I touched a nerve. You can't throw a fit just because your friend won't fuck you--"

Harumi came to a stop which was so sudden it made Matsuri stumble into her. She caught her kouhai's arm and held it.

"Are we speaking from experience now?" Harumi's voice was flat. "Shame your advice always comes too late for you to take it."

Matsuri broke into a sudden scowl and tried to jerk her arm from her senpai's tight hold.

"You remember what you did to Yuzu. What it did to her to be in the dark. Again."

Matsuri was rigid, her gaze unwavering as Harumi's voice grew louder.

"She has given you far more than you deserve. She has given you everything, again and again, and she always pulls out more, and for you to go fucking about with a glib grin on your face when you know she's hurting--" Harumi's free hand drew into a tight fist and her voice cracked. "You _know_ we're all hurting--"

With a rough exhalation, she threw Matsuri's arm down, blotting her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"Tch." Matsuri adjusted her backpack, before placing her hands on Harumi's shoulders. Harumi wondered for a second if this was a genuine attempt to be conciliatory; or, rather, she did until Matsuri spoke up. "Are we feeling better now?"

Harumi's shoulders tensed; she was ready to barrel forward again, to sink her nails into Matsuri's neck and pull her in two, but she stopped herself with another tight smile.

"I think you have a lot to teach me, Matsuri."

In the following lull, the two fell in lockstep as they strode the Adobo concourse.

"I could teach you how to not start fights in restaurants --"

"Pfft." Harumi almost choked on her sudden laughter. Her chest was tight as she smiled. "It's okay. I know another place we can go."

As she strode, Harumi scanned each shop-front. It took about three blocks before she found what she was looking for.

"Karaoke Ace?" Matsuri grinned, pressing her hands over her heart. "The romance, senpai! You remembered where we first met--"

"Uh uh." Harumi caught her kouhai by the collar as they stopped before a narrow, boxy building.

"Shintama Love Hotel..." Matsuri blinked. Her grin was quick to grow, however, when she met Harumi's stoic expression. "This is quite the change of pace, senpai."

"Come on, then. Unless you're scared."

Harumi jerked at Matsuri's collar before turning back to grin at her. The action resounded in its emptiness, and Matsuri leapt up to sling her arm across her senpai's shoulders.

Harumi counted out three thousand-yen notes and placed them on the counter. The two of them standing close, it looked as if Matsuri was hiding her face, but Harumi could feel her breath warm against her collar-bone, and she knew entirely what she was doing. She gritted her teeth and held as still as she could, all but stifling the shiver that ran through her.

"Just a rest stay."

When they'd been waved through, Harumi took a tentative seat on the bed, throwing her backpack down at its foot.

"Well." Matsuri shut the door and leant against it for a few seconds. "We're here now, aren't we?" She made her way toward Harumi and took her senpai's face in her hands, tilting it upward. "What the _fuck_ are we doing, Tanigu--"

Harumi, hands on her kouhai's neck, pulled Matsuri down to her. For a second entirely confused, Matsuri's hands grasped at the air before she finally found Harumi's shoulders. Still, it seemed, not sure of her next move, she stepped forward, leaning into the action and using Harumi's left shoulder for balance. She felt, to Harumi, very far away, and the kiss seemed to fill the gyaru's mouth and throat with ice. Everything felt wrong, absolutely everything, and yet Matsuri wasn't pulling away.

Was it meant to feel this bad? It was faintly pathetic, but Harumi had never kissed anyone before. She had never had the opportunity to, or, come to mention it, the inclination, not until recently. She wondered if it was like alcohol, if the first sip was the bitterest and you just had to neck it until you could stand it - if pushing through the retching helped you forget, in the long-run.

With her right hand, Harumi found her kouhai's hip, and knew she had to do something. She pushed the girl down onto the bed, drawing herself upwards; from her new vantage point, Matsuri's face was flat, if not a touch nonplussed. In the intervening silence, Matsuri narrowed her eyes.

"Is that it, then?"

Harumi said nothing. She took a deep breath and tightened her right fist above Matsuri's shoulder. Matsuri adjusted her position, rolling her neck between Harumi's arms. In time, she met her eyes again.

"You're being awfully forceful for someone who doesn't seem interested, senpai."

When Harumi spoke she was quiet, her voice warm and her mouth very close to Matsuri's.

"One body's as good as another, right? That's your philosophy, isn't it?"

"Taniguchi-san..." Matsuri began haltingly, pushing Harumi away as she averted her gaze. "I don't see why you have to make such a big deal about it."

Harumi screwed up her face, trying to choke back a sob, though she had less luck here than she had had in the restaurant. First one tear, warm and wet, landed on Matsuri's collar bone, and then another two.

"I don't either --" Harumi took in another breath, ragged and loud. Her eyes wide and wet, she fixed her partner with them. "For Christ's sake, how do you do this, Matsuri? I can't just forget on cue. Even if I want to."

Matsuri watched her senpai for a few seconds, her breath even. She closed her eyes tightly. Now more than ever she was detached, as if the very idea of talking was repellent to her. It was after a brief silence, punctuated by Harumi's breath, that she spoke, her gaze resolutely fixed on the alarm clock on the nightstand.

"Yuzu's got to live her own life, Taniguchi-san. And so have you. And so have I."

Harumi's brow furrowed. Matsuri took a quick glance upwards and spoke again.

"Let's put it this way. How much responsibility are you willing to take for her? Short of you locking her up in a padded cell, Yuzu's gonna keep banging her head against the wall until _she_ decides it hurts too much."

"I--" Before she could stop herself, Harumi's words came suddenly and simply. "I don't want her to hurt."

"Then what are you going to do about it?"

Harumi looked away. It seemed, for a moment, as if she was gearing up to say something, but, even now, the back of her throat stopped her, and she only gritted her teeth harder. It was a familiar feeling, that old feeling of drowning, of uniformity pressing her into the background and leaving her nothing to reach out to.

Her patience was tactical. She knew this; she was firm in this. It just seemed that nothing she could tell herself could justify how ineffectual her approach was. Matsuri had finally given voice to a fear that lived deep in Harumi's bones, a Mitsuko-infused strain of self-loathing, which told her that, even if she had the strength to act, nothing she could do would be enough.

Matsuri took a deep breath, bringing her hands together on her stomach, and meeting Harumi's eyes as she spoke.

"There you go."

She searched the face which lay below her, unable to tell what it wanted from her, or how it was expecting to steer the situation. As she continued to stare, Matsuri smiled, weakly, awkwardly, and her eyes flickered toward the headboard briefly before returning to Harumi.

"It's okay to let go, Taniguchi-senpai."

In the silence she tried not to betray her surprise. Matsuri wore an expression which she often used, her eyes heavy-lidded and inwardly pensive. It meant a bad attitude, that she felt shitty and was prepared to shift her weight around until everyone else joined her in her petulance. That was what Harumi had thought, at least, but here the little dickhead was, and, as far as Harumi could tell, she was throwing no weight, and demanding nothing. This look, now she'd stopped to study it, was ocean-deep, smooth and blank, unquestioning as a wordless toddler. As frustrated as it made her, she failed, this time, to feel angry at Matsuri. In this strange, blank room, the two of them pressed suffocatingly close, she felt that her kouhai had tried her level-best to pass her a lifeline.

Harumi shook her head before springing to the right and off the bed. She kicked her shoes off and grabbed the TV remote off the cabinet. She bounced back onto the bed as a sickly, white light bathed the room, and, over the tones of a local newscaster, was only faintly audible.

"I'm sorry, Matsuri."

"What for?"

Harumi pushed her thumb against her temple. "For kissing you. With no warning."

"Ah." Matsuri splayed where she lay, throwing her arm into Harumi's lap. Her voice had a familiar, threatening sing-song tone. "That's okay."

"It's really not, though, is it?"

Matsuri shuffled around a little, and she finally placed her head in Harumi's lap. "I don't dislike you, Taniguchi-senpai."

Harumi stilled, grinning a sick grin to herself. "It doesn't matter."

Matsuri sat up, and she was smiling now, a smile which was sharp and sly. "This is what I was talking about. You're far too straight-laced for your own good."

Harumi had nothing to say, but she was still again, meeting her kouhai's eyes in what appeared to be a test of nerves. As before, there was nothing there, nothing perceptible outside the girl's fingers on her clavicle and neck. In that moment, she could have grasped her by the collar; she could have drawn a tight fist in her hair and pulled her flat onto her back. Instead, her hands were still in her lap, and she gave no resistance as Matsuri reached forward to return her earlier kiss.

It burned again, deep, near her heart, where her rage buzzed. The sensation was warm, as gratifying as it was bitter. This time, Harumi found herself vaguely empty as the kiss broke, and let out a deep breath somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

Matsuri laughed a little at this. Sliding her arms around Harumi's neck, she pulled her closer in, almost on top of her. Harumi was distracted for a second before she let the sensation sink in, that same warmth spreading into her stomach and outwards. It felt that the only parts of her that weren't shaking - the only parts that weren't formless and screaming - were the ones that touched Matsuri. The reality of what was happening had finally sunk in for her; without really thinking about it, she had pushed her left hand under Matsuri's top, her right holding firm on her kouhai's cheek.

Something changed in her stomach as she felt the shape of the underwire. The sensation was no longer painful, only dull and heavy, and it dawned on her in the near-dark.

She had someone under her, and she wasn't Yuzu. She wasn't special, she wasn't sunshine. She was just... there.

It was nice to hold something solid for once.


End file.
